Of Lizards and Men
by kekmaster9001
Summary: As humanity first reached out to the stars, it found that the inky expanse was not as forgiving as once hoped. Faced with sapient alien life, the nations of Earth splintered into two factions: the conciliatory Systems Alliance, and the bellicose Grand Union. Set 20 years after the long, bloody First Contact War, a turian and a human find themselves in an unlikely friendship. A/U
1. Not a Social Visit

**A/N: My first fic. If I don't get any reviews I won't know what I'm doing right/wrong.**

* * *

"Alright, how are we going to do this?"

The four men huddled around a table that seemed much too small for them all to fit comfortably. On it, a mess of ivory tiles, dice, and cups half-filled with unidentifiable liquids covered what otherwise would have been an elegant piece of furniture.

"Gambling is a sin, boys," one of them said, smiling wryly. He was lanky, pale, and unfashionably thin. His choice in clothing – or seeming absence of choice was revoltingly base. A pair of poorly-fitted military slacks was all that he wore, judging that it was acceptable to go shirtless in less-than-polite company.

"Christ, Ivanov, put on a goddamned shirt," the one next to him said, wrinkling his nose in disgust. He was stocky, but not short – compared to the willowy adolescent next to him, he looked even more barrel-chested than usual. In comparison to the slovenly bunch which sat around the table, his well-tailored parade uniform looked hilariously out of place – more suited to an officer at a high-end club on shore leave than a marine who'd seen more violence during his short stint on a Union patrol ship than most criminals could ever hope to see in a lifetime.

"Didn't your parents teach you manners?" the man asked, jabbing a finger into Ivanov's bony chest.

"Hey, I'm not the only shirtless one here," Ivanov pointed out, gesturing at the man sitting across from him. "Shepard's in his goddamn underwear." Shepard stared back in indignation. He was closer in physique to Ivanov than to Chen, but was more filled-out than the gangly youth sitting across from him, who seemed fragile enough that a strong gust of wind could knock him over.

"It's 'cause he lost his clothing the last game," grunted the fourth man, who sat next to Shepard. He was a monkish-looking individual, the standard-regulation Union crew cut not helping his appearance, which seemed better suited for a habit than the stained wife beater and boxers that he had on. "But shit, it's hot as hell in here. Can't you do anything about it?" he asked the second man.

"I can't. Sorry, Petrovsky," the second one replied. "Omega's rationing electricity again, whatever the hell that means. Besides, the aircon broke down yesterday, no thanks to this shirtless asshole beside me, and nobody on the station has the right parts to get it working again."

"Oh, so it's my fault your crappy aircon doesn't work?" Ivanov asked.

"Well you were the one who insisted on running it all day. I warned you, but you didn't listen."

"Chen, don't you have a rich dad? Why the hell are you such a goddamn cheapskate?" Ivanov asked.

"Ah," Chen said, eyes lighting up. "I remembered something. I actually think I have a couple of fans hidden around here somewhere." The man got up, and lumbered out of the tastefully decorated living room and into one of the bedrooms which were off to one side of the apartment. He re-emerged several minutes later, carrying an armful of folding fans with him. Each was emblazoned with a differing slogan.

"Tentacle Trouble! Don't aid the Enemy – avoid consorting with Venusians! " Ivanov read lazily as he eyed the fan which Chen had given him. On it, a tentacle-haired, blue-skinned alien was pictured, brutally dismembering several uniformed infantrymen. "Christ, Chen, what the hell are these things?"

"From before our time," Chen said sagely. "Real vintage First Contact War memorabilia. Hard to get these days. My dad picked these fans up while he was serving on – Christ, Ivanov, don't do that, you'll wreck it."

He reached for the fan which Ivanov was now fiddling with as if it were an accordion.

"_Ch. _No fun, this guy is. Tell me, did you act like this when you were a kid, or were you born with a twelve-inch stick up your ass?" Ivanov asked as he hopped out of the chair, skipping around the apartment sprightly as Chen tried to grapple with him for possession of the manhandled fan.

"Are we gonna dick around, or are we gonna play some mahjong?" Petrovsky hollered from his place at the table. Beside him, Shepard looked on impatiently, staring at the pile of clothing which he had lost in a bet during the previous game.

"Alright," Ivanov gasped, back shining with sweat from the sustained effort of running around the stuffy apartment, as he pulled his seat out from underneath the table, and sat himself down. Chen, barely breaking a sweat from the exertion, took his seat next to Ivanov, uniform still unnaturally crisp.

"Shepard rolls, since he lost the most last round," Petrovsky said plainly.

Shepard grabbed the dice from the table, and threw them with a controlled flick of the wrist.

"Fourteen," he announced to the rest of the men.

The dice were passed over to Petrovsky, who rolled.

"Eighteen," he said smugly. "Looks like I'm east wind."

The dice were exchanged again. "Four," Ivanov read in disbelief.

"At least it's not three," Petrovsky cackled.

"Nine," Chen said.

The men shifted their positioning, so that each of them occupied one side of the rectangular table.

"I'll bet Shepard's clothes, and mine, that he'll lose again this time," Petrovsky said.

"You're on," Shepard said. "Five hundred credits says I won't."

"Now that's just highway robbery," Chen chuckled. "Steal a man's clothes, and his wallet too? Next you'll be wagering on his girlfriend. Go easy on the kid."

"I don't want your pity, Chen," Shepard shot back.

"That's right," Ivanov chimed in. "He needs it."

"Look who's talking, beansprout," Chen smirked. "And like I said earlier, don't do that."

"Come on, loosen up a bit, will you?" Ivanov said, balancing his folded-up fan in a rather precipitous position on the very edge of a cup filled with strong-smelling alcohol. "Guys, remember that one time we went to Afterlife and this hardass over here threw a hissy fit after one of the girls they had puked all over his uniform?"

"Ivanov, I don't think anybody would be calm after getting puked on," Shepard pointed out.

"Are we gonna shit-talk all day, or are we gonna play? I'm not getting any younger here," Petrovsky said impatiently.

"Alright, alright," Ivanov said, raising his hands defensively.

Just as they began shuffling the tiles, however, the ringing of a chime was heard.

"Christ, what is it now?" Petrovsky exclaimed exasperatedly.

"Somebody's at the door," Chen stated matter-of-factly. "I'll get it," he added, getting up and walking over to the entrance. Pressing a button, the two halves of the door bifurcated smoothly, revealing a uniformed figure.

"Hello, boys," the visitor said warmly. "A bit early in the day to be gambling, isn't it?"

"There's no day-night cycle on Omega, sir," Chen said sheepishly, rubbing the back of his head with one hand. "What brings you here today?"

"Why the hell is Captain Jiang here?" Ivanov asked curiously, thinking that he was out of earshot of the captain. As Chen heard his friend ask, he cringed subconsciously.

"Do you want the good news, or the bad news, son?" the captain asked in a louder voice, addressing Ivanov, who turned in surprise.

"Bad news, sir," Ivanov said, panicked, as he stood at attention.

Captain Jiang strolled leisurely into the apartment, and both Petrovsky and Shepard joined Ivanov in standing at attention.

"At ease, boys," the captain said, sitting down on the expensive-looking leather couch which was turned to face the makeshift mahjong table where the four men sat. "I've been out all morning, so please excuse me," he said gingerly, massaging his thighs. "My legs aren't anything like they were when I was younger."

"Please, make yourself at home, sir," Chen said. "I'll get the tea brewing."

"Chen Weiming, was it?" the captain asked.

"Yes, sir."

"No need for the tea, son. I won't be long," the captain said, raising a hand in protest as Chen exited the living room in search of the kettle. "This isn't a social visit, though I do hold occasional correspondence with your father. Please, send him my regards."

"Will do, sir."

"Down to business, now. Where was I?" the captain thought aloud.

"The bad news, sir?" Ivanov chirped in.

"Ah, yes. And you three are?"

"Seaman Pyotr Ivanov, 1412th Naval Infantry Battalion, sir."

"Seaman John Shepard, 1412th Naval Infantry, sir."

"Fedor Petrovsky, sir," Petrovsky stated. Captain Jiang said nothing, waiting for him to finish his statement. "1412th Naval Infantry," Petrovksy added curtly.

"Wonderful," the captain said, consulting his omnitool. "Looks like you're all attached with the _USV Vladivostok_, anyways, so it works out just fine."

"Why, sir? Is it something classified?" Ivanov asked.

"Awfully talkative, aren't we, son?" the captain said, smiling. "Oh, I don't mind, of course," he added quickly, seeing Ivanov cringe upon hearing his pronouncement. "It's almost like you speak more to make up for the fact that your two friends behind you don't speak nearly enough. But I digress. Where was I again?" He smiled.

"The bad news, sir," Ivanov said.

"Ah! Of course. The bad news." The way in which Captain Jiang spoke was completely uncharacteristic of one delivering bad news, instead seeming more like a tone worthy of disseminating nothing but idle gossip. "We're shipping out again this afternoon. Got an emergency hail from one of our listening stations near the mass relay, something about aliens – an Avian patrol, more specifically. Considering that Omega is at the heart of our territories in the Terminus, that's a tad bit troubling, isn't it? So, brass decided that they'd dispatch a cruiser to check out the situation. It's classified, by the way, so don't go telling your lady friends anything when we leave. We don't want the public to know that our borders are so porous that aliens can make it all the way to Omega without being detected."

"What?" Petrovsky sputtered. "But I thought we had shore leave until next week!"

The captain sighed apologetically. "I tried, son. It pains me to do this to you fine young souls, but it really can't be helped."

"What about the _Cherry Blossom_? That damn thing spends all year docked on Omega and doesn't do anything else! Couldn't they send them instead?"

"The Union brass, sending the Fourteenth's crown jewel on a patrol run? A dreadnought on a patrol run, a bit overkill, isn't it? Besides, it's too high-profile for our job."

"What about the _Minsk_?"

"Look, son, I tried, I really did. Do you want me to list out all the ships I tried to get them to send in our place? The _Minsk _is still at half-manpower thanks to the goddamned four-eyed pig bastards launching a surprise raid on one of our border colonies. The _Samara_ is due for repair and retrofit next week, since she's still packing armament that hasn't been updated since the First Contact War. The _Hong Kong_'s captain, bless his poor soul, blew his brains out when he found out his wife was cheating on him and his son wasn't actually his, and they're still looking for somebody qualified to command a cruiser fitted with hell knows what experimental weaponry they've decided to test on that ship. The _Pyongyang_ is tied up with patrolling the border regions, along with practically all the other cruisers in the Fourteenth. We're one of the few ships that could take the job, and the closest one at that."

The captain sighed, and stood up. "We'll be embarking at 1300 hours, sharp, boys. Be there on time."

"Well, this is a whole load of horse shit," Petrovsky swore as the captain exited the apartment. "Time for one last game?"

The four men sat back down at the table, and began shuffling the tiles, spirits dampened by the news.


	2. No Glory for the Merciful

The CIC was a flurry of activity. Everywhere, turians suited in full combat armour were frantically scrambling about, whispering instructions into the ears of crew manning important-looking pieces of equipment. An old turian captain stood above it all, overseeing the scene of deliberate, controlled chaos. Behind him, another turian appeared, placing one hand on the captain's shoulder to get his attention.

"Vakarian, what do you have for me?"

"I went down to engineering, and they tell me they've got the calibrations set up, sir. We should show up as a cargo ship, maybe even a civilian yacht on their instruments, so long as they're not looking too closely."

"We'll just pray they're not looking too closely, then. Good work."

"Thank you, sir," Vakarian said, as he took his seat next to the captain on their elevated command platform.

"Don't worry, Vakarian," the captain said. Vakarian turned to face the old turian.

"Awful hard not to worry when you're this deep in enemy territory, surrounded by a hostile fleet galactically renowned for excessive brutality. Mother of all bad ideas, isn't it, sir?"

"Nothing to be afraid of. Be glad, Vakarian. We'll go down in the books for this one. The first Citadel Council ship in Union space since the end of the War!" The captain laughed. "It'll put those damn barefaced politicians to rest about the need to repeal the Treaty of Farixen. Bullshit! If we did that, it'd be a goddamned disaster! Can you imagine those slimy salarian bastards with a fleet our size? I've been telling them for years now, the humans aren't in a position to defend their own borders, let alone launch another invasion of our territory. One to four, Vakarian. That's how many of ours died in the War compared to theirs. The Union—"

A silent explosion rocked the ship, and several turians on the floor of the CIC were sent tumbling to one side of the room, dazed, but still moving.

"Sir? Looks like the Union is defending their borders," Vakarian said, bracing himself for another impact.

"Vakarian!" the captain snapped, sounding magnitudes more serious than he had several seconds earlier. "Status report!"

"Just some external damage, sir," Vakarian stated, reading from the terminal in front of him. "No casualties. Attacker seems to be a Union cruiser. The Alliance database says that it's a _Novosibirsk_-class. An older ship, so we shouldn't have a problem outrunning it. I'm getting some residual radiation readings from the explosion site, though. Nothing near dangerous levels, though. Hold on…"

"Vakarian, get engineering over the intercom, and tell them to go to full burn!" the captain barked.

"Yes, sir," Vakarian said, entering a command into the intercom, before speaking. "Engineering, get us on full burn."

"Damned space pyjaks are using nukes," the captain growled. "If we don't get out of here quick, they'll fry the ship's electronics and board us."

"Gunners!" the captain hollered. "Tear these squishy bastards a new asshole!"

"Sir, isn't the ship hardened against EMP blasts?" Vakarian asked.

"EMP, yes. Gigaton nuclear weapons, no such luck. ETA on the engines?"

"About two minutes, sir."

"We don't have two minutes."

"Sir, I'd put on a slinky dress and do a dance for you if it meant we could get the ship back to full speed faster, but—"

Another explosion was felt, but this time, it was accompanied by the sound of failing electronics. Suddenly, the ship fell silent, the faint hum of the engines replaced by deathly silence.

"Spirits be damned!" the captain cursed in the darkness. "Men, get your rifles and barricade the airlocks!"

"What's going to happen, sir?" Vakarian asked, standing up to get to the shipboard armoury.

"We'll be boarded," the captain announced plainly.

* * *

"Captain, it's an Avian ship. Size equivalent to one of our frigates. Heat signature's been tampered with, so it looks more like a cargo ship, but visuals don't lie. "

"Just one?"

"Seems like it."

"Odd. Patrols tend to operate in packs. Maybe it wasn't a patrol after all. Kim, tell the helm to get a bit closer, into missile range. I want this craft disabled, and the crew captured. Nothing too high-profile. We don't want bits of wreckage to be floating around, it'd raise too many questions."

"Will do, sir," the executive officer said, walking away.

Captain Jiang took his cap off, and wiped his brow with a towel, before returning it to his pocket. For some odd reason, commanding always made him sweat more than anything else did. He attributed it to an old paranoia of his that he had gotten fighting the First Contact War. Whenever a patrol was going too quietly, too smoothly, there was almost always a trap on the other end, just waiting to be sprung.

"Officer?" he called to one of the men loitering on the CIC deck, who was wearing the colours of the Naval Infantry. "Tell your men to get suited up and into the shuttles." The officer gave a salute, and exited the CIC.

* * *

"Ten."

"Nine."

"Eight."

"Seven."

"Six."

"Five –"

The countdown was interrupted by a loud hacking cough.

"You alright there, buddy?" the pilot asked, flipping several switches and double checking his flight settings.

"Fine," the helmeted marine replied weakly. "Caught something on Omega." A couple of sniggers could be heard to that line.

"Four."

"Three."

"Two."

"One."

The engines rumbled to life, and the shuttle passengers, roughly thirty of them packed shoulder to shoulder, shifted slightly from the inertia of the craft taking flight.

"All systems go," the pilot noted casually. "ETA forty minutes. I hope you boys brought some cards."

Shepard turned his head, looking around himself. To his left sat Ivanov, and to his right, an older gentleman, who seemed to be nearing the end of his five year mandatory service, if the patchwork of scars on his face were any indication of that sort of thing. He sighed, and put his helmet on, which sealed to his suit with a light hiss.

"This your first time?" the marine next to him asked, nudging his side with an elbow.

"Yeah," Shepard replied.

"I can tell," he said. "You brought too much shit. What the hell are you bringing your bandoleer with you for? Gonna show the Avians a fireworks display?"

"Regs say to bring extra ammunition for prolonged firefights."

"The regs? Written by some dumb asshole who never did a real life boarding, I'll bet," the marine said dismissively. "Gimme that."

He reached over, and ripped the bandoleer off of Shepard's chest. He handed him a pair of jungle-taped magazines, which Shepard accepted cautiously, and put the bandoleer underneath his seat.

"If you're lucky, you might get off a handful of shots before the aliens blow your brains out. The ammo'd only weigh you down if you're alive after the first five minutes, not like these goddamned lead-lined suits don't do that enough."

"Thanks," Shepard said unenthusiastically.

"Christ, Jun, way to scare the FNGs," laughed a marine from across the shuttle. "Don't worry about Jun, he's just paranoid like that."

"It's not paranoia," Jun grumbled. "The last greenhorn got shot once and he lit up like firecrackers. _Pop, pop, pop_, goddamn ammo going off like its Chinese New Year, _shit_. Could barely even ID the bastard after, had to scrape bits of him off the shuttle floor to send back home to his parents." Out the corner of his eye, Shepard could see Ivanov carefully detaching his own bandoleer.

Shepard leaned back in his seat, and closed his eyes. He checked the time. They were getting closer to the destination. At ten minutes before arrival, the light-hearted chatter which had enveloped the interior of the shuttle had largely died off, and the marines sat in silent anticipation. At five minutes, Shepard turned his head, and saw Ivanov, head bowed in prayer, muttering something in Russian.

"Okay boys, this is it," the pilot announced finally, as the shuttle clicked into place with the Avian spacecraft's airlock door. "Get yourselves ready."

Shepard unbuckled himself, following suit after the rest of the group, and checked his rifle.

"Jun, take the front," the lieutenant in charge said. The man obliged, walking up next to the shuttle door. He pulled out a grenade, and prepared to throw it.

"Opening doors in three, two, one," the pilot said loudly. Shepard raised his weapon, and pointed it at the wide sliding door, as did twenty-nine other rifles.

With a groan, the door opened, a slight sliver. Just as it did, a shot whizzed by Shepard's helmet. It hit behind him, making a deep crevice in the metal roof of the shuttle. Jun threw the grenade, which went off with a subdued thud. The gap between the shuttle doors widened, revealing the makeshift barricades which the defenders had erected. Seeing that the shuttle had been made open to fire, a hail of supersonic pellets came flying the direction of the marines. In front of him, a pile of fallen soldiers had materialized within a matter of seconds, and the controlled silence not moments before had devolved into a chaotic mess of screams of agony and the discharge of firearms. Panicked, Shepard aimed wildly, squeezing the trigger of his rifle, which had luckily aligned itself with a hostile. A stream of hot lead erupted forth, and the alien's shields shimmered before faltering. The enemy gave a flanging shout of pain as the bullets tore through armour, and into flesh. After what seemed to be an eternity, but had actually been more like thirty seconds, the gunfire finally died down, and an unearthly calm, pierced by the cries of the wounded for help, filled the air.

"Move forward and get behind the barricades!" the lieutenant shouted, making a wild dash for the makeshift cover in the airlock. Jun followed suit, lobbing a grenade blindly, which bounced off of the wall of the airlock and into the connecting corridor. The few survivors of the boarding huddled around the lieutenant, rifles readied and eyes scanning for any remaining Avian soldiers.

"Jun, head count!" the lieutenant bellowed. Shepard was beginning to wonder if the lieutenant had endured hearing damage of some sort during the brief engagement. He looked around at the other survivors of the boarding. Ivanov, luckily, had made it out safely, though his helmet was notched quite deeply on one side – he had dodged death, but only barely. Out of the thirty men aboard the shuttle as it docked, only eight of them had made it out unscathed – behind him, he could see an increasingly delirious Petrovsky being tended to by Chen.

"Eight, sir," Jun said.

"Not bad," the lieutenant noted loudly. Not bad? Shepard shuddered to think of what a bad boarding looked like. "Tell the pilot he can return to the _Vladivostok_."

"Will do," Jun said, lumbering over to the bulletproof pane of glass which separated the pilot's cockpit from the rest of the shuttle.

"You!" the lieutenant called out. Chen turned around. "Stay with the wounded. They'll need looking after."

Chen nodded silently, and returned to his task.

"The rest of us are going to be meeting up with the other three of the boarding teams on this half of the ship," the lieutenant screamed. "After we've met up with the others, we'll fight our way to the CIC, and meet up with the boarding teams who landed on the other half of the ship. Simple pincer maneuver. Understood?"

"Yes, sir!" the remaining seven marines replied in unison. Behind them, the shuttle detached itself from the airlock, which sealed its own doors.

"No turning back now, boys," the lieutenant shouted, readying his rifle. "Remember the Fourteenth's motto?"

"No glory for the merciful, sir!" the marines shouted in reply.


	3. Assault

"Vakarian! Status report now!" the captain hollered, as he spotted Vakarian turn a corner and enter the CIC.

"Our airlock blockades are down," Vakarian replied, stopping to address the captain. "No survivors."

"How many crew do we have left?" the captain asked.

"By my estimate, eighty out of the hundred original combat-fit crew, mostly stationed around the CIC and the drive core."

"And how many men does the enemy have?"

"Forty."

"And engineering?"

"Thank the spirits we've got spare drive parts stowed away where the humans' EMP couldn't hit, sir. The Chief told me they'd have the ship back up and running in ten minutes."

"Good work, Vakarian. If we can make a run for it, the humans can't get a numerical edge over us, since they won't be able to reinforce."

"Let's just hope that the drive core is back up before the second waves of shuttles get here, sir."

* * *

"The other teams are just ahead!" the lieutenant screamed as the sporadic sounds of gunfire echoed nearer and nearer.

"Haven't encountered a lot of resistance," Jun noted.

"They're probably concentrating their men somewhere," the lieutenant hollered. He stopped suddenly at the end of the corridor, where the narrow passageway turned into another one at a sharp angle. "Corner!" he screamed. Jun dutifully walked up behind him, and lobbed a grenade past the lieutenant and into the connecting hallway.

Hearing the grenade detonate, the group turned the corner, entering what appeared to be a mess hall. On one side, a pair of turian defenders had barricaded themselves behind thick metal cafeteria tables, and on the other, a group of marines had done the same. The two turians occasionally peeked upward, and fired a couple of wild shots, before descending back into cover as their appearance was met with overwhelming firepower.

"Friendlies!" the lieutenant hollered as he ran toward the marines.

"Christ almighty, we thought you were one of them," one of the marines screamed back as Shepard and the rest of the group merged with the small mess hall contingent. "What were you trying to do with that goddamn grenade, kill somebody?"

"That's the notion, yeah," Jun said.

"Who's in charge here?" the lieutenant asked.

"I am," a marine said, crawling forward to face the lieutenant. The markings on the side of his helmet indicated that he was a sergeant. "We lost damn near everybody on our shuttle to the lizard bastards. This is everybody who made it out."

Shepard looked around, and saw only three marines.

"The lizards have us pinned down pretty good," the sergeant went on. "With their shields, we would've needed twice as many men to take them down, at least until you showed up. How are we going to do this, sir?"

"Is that an MG you've got there?" the lieutenant asked, pointing at a marine, who was supporting hefty-looking gun mounted on a bipod which rested against the top of the cafeteria table.

"Yes, sir."

"Lay down some covering fire," he said, grabbing a grenade from a pouch on his waist, and priming it. "Be sure not to shoot me," he added, as he vaulted over the makeshift barricade, and dashed wildly toward the enemy, live grenade in hand.

The marine rose from his cover, and began firing, taking care not to send any stray bullets in the direction of the lieutenant. One of the turians rose from cover as the shooting commenced, and fired a wild shot in the direction of the marines. The small pellet, by some unfortunate miracle, flew in the direction of the machine gunner, striking his bandoleer. As Jun had predicted, the reams of ammunition went wild, and a rapid succession of popping sounds began filling the air.

"Get the fuck out!" Jun screamed, narrowly dodging a stray piece of shrapnel as he ran out of cover, rifle raised and ready to fire. Shepard and the rest of the marines followed suit, and soon, the group was storming toward the turian barricades with reckless abandon. As Jun reached the halfway point, he saw the lieutenant toss the grenade in the general direction of the enemy. It flew past the makeshift barricades, and exploded spectacularly. Not wanting to risk anything, the lieutenant pulled a second grenade from his pouch, and prepared to prime it. Just as he did, however, a bloodied turian soldier popped up from behind cover, briefly aiming at the lieutenant before being cut down by a stream of bullets from the direction of the marines rushing forward to meet their leader.

"Thanks," the lieutenant panted loudly. "Drinks are on me when we get back."

The group paused for a moment, taking stock of the situation.

"Ivanov, grab the MG and whatever unexploded ammunition you can scavenge," the lieutenant instructed. He walked behind the turian blockade, and fired several more rounds into the unmoving bodies of the enemies.

"Can't be too certain these bastards are dead until you mess them up real bad," he explained.

* * *

As the marines moved through the corridors of the ship, firing freely at anything which moved and lobbing grenades past every corner, the ship suddenly came back to life, and the dim emergency lighting which had illuminated their destructive romp suddenly intensified tenfold, to a level which was near-unbearable by the human intruders.

"What the hell just happened?" Ivanov asked, as the group of marines stopped dead in their tracks.

"They fixed the ship," Jun growled.

"What's that mean?"

"It means we're fucked," the lieutenant said, turning around. "We're turning back."

"What? Why?"

"Let's just pray that the good captain and his boys can catch up before this ship gets to the mass relay, or we're all done," Jun said. "Come on, we're heading back to the airlock to wait for extraction."

"Wait, what the hell?" Ivanov said. "We lost that many guys, for nothing?"

"Just about," the lieutenant replied as they made for the airlock, double time. He radioed the remnants of the other boarding teams on the other side of the ship, telling them to pull back as well.

"Ivanov, get behind that barricade and get the MG set up," the lieutenant ordered as soon as they had reached their airlock. "I want men behind every barricade. Check all the corpses you can find for weapons and ammunition. Jun! How many grenades do you have left?"

"Five."

"It's enough," the lieutenant said. "Still remember how to field rig motion activated mines?"

"Yes, sir."

"Helmets off, marines, and pass them over to Jun," the lieutenant ordered. "We're having lizard limbs for dinner tonight."

"If we manage to last that long," Jun said, fiddling with a grenade and his own helmet, before hiding the contraption underneath an avian corpse.

"And if we don't, we'll at least die knowing that we erased as many of these uglies as humanly possible," the lieutenant laughed harshly, kicking at an avian corpse.


	4. Citadel

"Sir, I don't think we'll make it," Ivanov shouted at the lieutenant as he cradled his head, narrowly missing a supersonic pellet which whizzed by and lodged itself deep in the airlock door.

"Bullshit, private! Our boys'll come any minute now, you just wait," the lieutenant hollered back, firing blindly over the makeshift barricade, emptying an entire magazine.

"I'm all out!" he screamed. "Anybody got extra mags?"

"We left the rest of our shit in the shuttle!" Ivanov shot back.

"I'm fucking done with this!" Jun roared furiously, throwing his rifle to the ground, before pulling a grenade from his vest and arming it. "I sure as hell ain't gonna surrender when I can blow some of these ugly ass aliens up with me," he screamed, vaulting over the barricade. After several panicked seconds passed, a thunderous explosion sounded, and the firing died down temporarily.

"Christ, there goes our best shot," the lieutenant spat bitterly. Just as he did, however, an alien rushed past the barricades, sensing that the marines had stopped shooting. Hissing incomprehensibly, it unloaded its weapon into the lieutenant and Ivanov, before turning to face Shepard. Shepard stared back into its beady eyes, and with equal parts fear and fury, gave a feral battle cry before launching himself straight at the creature.

The pair rolled around, Shepard attempting to rip one of the avian's mandibles off while the avian tried to slash at Shepard's face with sharp-looking talons. Spying motion out of the corner of his eye, Shepard barely caught the sight of reinforcements arriving behind the barricade, before he felt a sharp crack on the back of his unhelmeted head, and the world went dark.

* * *

_Fire. The colony was a mess, the main street littered with detritus and corpses, the fields in the distance burning, casting long flickering shadows wherever the invaders went. The boy was frozen in terror, gawking at the unexploded shell which had fallen through the roof of their home. He looked at the empty hook where his father's coat had been just minutes earlier, before he had been called to defend the settlement. The boy wanted to think that he was alright, that they had already killed whoever had attacked the colony, but the anguished screams for help which pierced the chilly evening air shattered that delusion. In the distance, air raid alarms blared, adding to the apocalyptic atmosphere. _

_ "John?" his mother called out. "Come along, now, to the basement. It's not safe here."_

_ The boy pulled himself out of his catatonic state, and nodding his head, descended the stairs to the basement. The sound of an automatic rifle being fired jolted him again. It was getting closer._

_ "Stay put, John," his mother said, caressing the boy's head before she got up, rifle in hand. His father had gotten it earlier, promised him that when his birthday came, they would go hunting together, but for now, he wasn't allowed to touch it. He wondered if his father had given her mother permission. She held the rifle in unsteady arms, pointing it approximately in the direction of the stairs leading into their basement._

Crack._ Upstairs, somebody had kicked the door in. Heavy footsteps thudded as the intruders lumbered around the house. The boy sat stock still, pretending to be a statue, like the one which the big people had just erected in the centre of town, for 'cereficial purposes', whatever that meant. _

_ The footsteps drew closer. _Thud. Thud. Thud. _He could hear them coming down the stairs. His mother was muttering a silent prayer. Just as the boy could see a single booted foot plant itself on a step, his mother fired. _Crack_. The sound seemed louder than the time that his father had taken them camping, and he had spotted a lone rabbit, probably escaped from a farm somewhere. _

_ The shot went astray, hitting a point on the wall behind the foot as the intruder continued down. It struck a terrifying figure – it was tall, helmeted, and carried a blackish rifle in its hands. Spotting his mother, the intruder lifted its rifle up to aim, and shot. The boy watched in horror as his mother collapsed, unmoving. He remained still, hoping that as long as he didn't move, the intruder wouldn't notice him. Several more of the intruders descended the stairs to the basement, hoping to see the source of the commotion. The boy could count five in total. Upon spotting his mother, one of them said something in a rough-sounding language which the boy couldn't understand. The one which killed his mother replied in an agitated tone. The group milled around for several minutes, their speech growing louder and louder, as arms were waved around wildly and fingers were pointed. Finally, one of the intruders, whose helmeted was marked by a pair of white stripes unholstered a pistol, and pointed it at the head of the one which had killed his mother. It fired, and the intruder went limp, a reddish-brown cloud of something exploding from the back of its head. _

_ The boy shrieked, and the intruders turned to face him. The white-striped one walked nearer, reaching out with its gloved hand. The boy screamed louder, before blacking out in terror. _

* * *

"He's waking up."

"What?"

"It looks like the turians didn't hit him hard enough."

"Thank God. I thought he might've been brain-dead. Brass'll be overjoyed to hear this."

Shepard's eyes fluttered open, as he was blinded by what seemed to be an impossibly bright light. Suddenly, his mind remembered. The avian patrol, the shuttle, the lights coming back on, everything. But how? Was he dead?

"Christ," he muttered. "I must be dead."

"Patient is speaking," an excited voice said. "Appears to be… Russian. Quick! Get the officer from Intelligence over here."

"Where am I?" Shepard asked, his eyes adjusting to the light. Around him, he saw a group of unfamiliar-looking doctors. Their scrubs were the wrong color, and the bed where he was lying seemed to be in a civilian hospital, not on Omega or the _Vladivostok_. Outside of the window, he spotted an alien landscape of lakes and grassy fields, which seemed to curve upward in defiance of all planetary geometry.

"Shit," he muttered again. "I _am_ dead."

"Not exactly," a voice replied.

Shepard turned his head to face the source of the voice. It was a black-haired woman, wearing an unfamiliar-looking uniform and shaking her head lightly in amusement.

"Where am I?"

"The Citadel."


End file.
